A Quote by Armand Hammer

Raking over the past and sifting its dust is an occupation for the idle or the elderly retired. — © Armand Hammer
Raking over the past and sifting its dust is an occupation for the idle or the elderly retired.
Sifting daylight dissolves the memory, turns it into dust motes floating in light.
If nobody can learn from the past, then there's no point in raking it up.
Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.
Love is the occupation of the idle man, the amusement of a busy one, and the shipwreck of a sovereign.
When I retired in 2002 I had retired to stay home with my family and didn't necessarily think my playing days were over.
This is the process of mental analysis, sifting through the selves, sifting through your thoughts, practicing mindfulness, learning to control thought.
The earth doesn't have a housekeeper to do the dusting. And the dust that falls on it every day remains there. Everything that's come down to us from the past has been conserved by dust.
If we keep on raking up the past, you can never work with anybody. You will always be fighting against your enemies, and that is bad.
Germany, I think, was first to substitute a Social Security program for its elderly based on this premise, that is, that we would tax workers to pay retirement benefits for those retired.
But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past - or more accurately, pastness - is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past
There is nothing I fear so much as idleness, the want of occupation, inactivity, the lethargy of the faculties; when the body is idle, the spirit suffers painfully.
One of the interesting things I discovered, talking about your grandmother, is I did a search of my uses of the word "elderly" in my copy over the years, and you will not be surprised to hear that the older I got the less often I used the word elderly in print.
Why are women so fond of raking up the past? They're as bad as tailors, who invariably remember what you owe them for a suit long after you've ceased to wear it.
By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream
When I'm sifting the compost seed or pruning, I argue over issues in my head; I talk to myself.
Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.
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